Since I got that chip wired into my brain I can have nine different emotions at the same time. It's so awesome. Before the operation I could only feel simple things. I'd be happy, sad, mad. But nothing in between. That made me really angry. With the chip I can match and merge my moods as I need them. If a guy I can't stand tells me he likes me I just press buttons 1,3,5,7 and 8 on the remote control. Then he goes away. If I'm crazy about him I press buttons 2,4,6 and 9. And he stays. If I'm fighting with my parents over a new boyfriend I press all the buttons at once. They freak and run into the bedroom. I feel the right stuff at parties, funerals, and concerts when the music is cool. But what do I do now? The neighbor's new garage door opener is on the exact same frequency as my remote control!

Story # 49

The parade was incessant. It marched, marched from city to city all around the globe. Wherever it approached it triggered mass actions to join. People ran frantically from closet to closet until locating the white clothes and the scarlet hat and bandana which must be worn. Snare drums, bass drums, kettle drums were hastily organized, any instrument of percussion. In larger towns you could chose from drums and uniforms piled high in front of city hall. A fortunate few were given cymbals. The beat of the drums solidified into a rhythmic wall of sound that sent out its hooks and dragged in young and old alike. Everyone must join. Everyone must march. Soon everyone did.

Story #48

Hannah had a pair of x-ray glasses she wore whenever she had a boy in her room. "Ah what nice bones you have," she'd say. The boy usually thanked her for the compliment and hoped to initiate other matters, but she was only beginning. "Ohmigod, what IS that in your small intestine?" - she'd blurt out suddenly - "Maybe you'd better sit still for a while." After a time it became quite unsettling for the boy. "I wonder if that cherry pit is going to make it through the appendix," she'd speculate, and eye his abdomen with tense excitement. "Oh, this is going to be good!" she'd conclude with an expectant quiver in her voice. That usually got the boy to stand up and run to the nearest emergency room. Of course, if it was someone she really liked, she took off the glasses and kissed him.

Story #47

He was devoted to the statue. The seductive aesthetic of her form, the numbing perfection of her proportions cast a spell that eased ever deeper into his soul. It stunned him the first time he saw her. He stared then into her eyes for what seemed like hours before finally gathering the courage to move closer and place his arm around her. It was a moment of magic. The cars driving by sounded like angels singing and he never wanted to leave her. But as he could not stay and she could not go away with him, they finally had to part. Following that first encounter he came to her at every opportunity, lovingly wiping the pigeon droppings from her unclothed body. Entire evenings found him there, sharing the quiet solitude of his thoughts with her, feeling himself drawn ever closer to his Goddess. It was a devastating shock that one day when he arrived and found her standing with another man.

Story #46

I'm quite a capitalist, you haveta admit. Don't be fooled by the color red you see me wearing. Made a great deal on the Brooklyn Bridge today, got it for $100. That guy was a complete jerk. Talked him down from $500. Thought he could pull a fast one on me! The damn cables are rusted! After that I felt so good I bought my wife this Brooklyn sweatshirt. It's a Christian Dior, without the label. A steal at $75. Now, I don't wanna brag, but how 'bout that ocean behind us? Pretty nice ocean, huh? Just traded the Brooklyn Bridge for it. Plus $200 for the salt. Wheeling and dealing. High finance. Big business. It's working for me now!

Story #45

What if I hold this pencil? Does that help? Do I at least look like an author? I'm trying my most concentrated gaze. Is it intellectual enough? The glasses are in the right place, aren't they? Look, I know they're in the right style. I checked all the pictures. It's authentic! What if I think "Steppenwolf Steppenwolf Demian Demian" over and over? That must help! C'mon! This could be my big break, the one I've been working towards all my life. I just gotta win the Hermann Hesse look-alike contest. How will I ever face my creative writing class if I lose?

Story #44

- Doctor, I'm really worried about this. My shadow is too small. Is there anything you can do for me?
- We could try a shadow enlargement, but sometimes the shadows do get rather large and threatening. It might scare people.
- What about adding a second shadow, same size as this?
- And have two small shadows?
- Yes, I get awfully lonely sometimes.
- It could be done, but we'd have to find a donor.
- How about a nice girl's shadow?
- Hmmm. Might be interesting, if the two shadows – get along.

Story #43

The boy carried his girlfriend around with him wherever he went. Whether on the beach, to parties, in buses. Even as a child she preferred to be carried instead of walking herself. It had become a habit that was impossible to break. Her parents were to blame, of course, but they had washed their hands of the whole affair and moved permanently into their summer home in Florida. When it came time for the boy to end the relationship with the girl he could not just put her down. He would have to wait for another boy to hand her over to.

Story #42

The three girls were turning into trees. They had been to doctors, specialists, tried all kinds of medicines. Even the tree surgeon was mystified, snapping out of a lustful stare to tell them there was nothing he could do for them, as they indeed seemed to be turning into remarkably healthy trees. Each day new leaves grew into place, and their limbs felt like wood. The girls became frantic, at times stumbling through the forest in panic. They didn't want to become trees! One morning they could no longer move as nimbly as they had been accustomed, and the thick foliage began to smother them. It would not be long. They resigned to say their adieus to everyone. As they repeated their tearful farewell to the gardener, he shook with hearty laughter. Upon recovering he told the girls how silly they had been. Now they came to him twice a week to have their bark removed and their leaves trimmed away. The gardener knowing how to treat plants, and the girls knowing how to treat gardeners, it goes without saying that they all lived happily ever after.

Story #41

In the future there were no more men! It had been a shock when the last surviving specimen had consummated the extinction of his gender. Exhaustion was the diagnosis, a consequence of services enjoying such high demand. Women were sad at first but continued their lives. Brilliant female architects conceived and erected obelisk-like museums to fill the need of nostalgia. There women could be reminded of how men had been. The man-models were so realistic women often found themselves climbing into bed with them. Then they had to giggle.

Story #40

Hello. I live behind the eye. I can see you but you can't see me. She may look at you, or look through you, and maybe a fleeting thought is devoted to you. But I sit back and take it all in in my leisure. If I want her to kiss you, I can make her do so. She won't know why. She won't even imagine it was my idea. I can cause her to turn her head away and never gaze upon you again. She may sleep. But I never do. Ah, the power I have back here! Not even a hypnotist can get to me. There! Did you see? That wink? I did that.

Story #39

The man lived with his wife right in the middle of the river. Certainly it was wet, and the walls kept washing away, but it had its charm. His wife's friends wore bikinis when they came to visit, and when one of them stayed the night, who could tell how a sudden current might shift her into his arms? On days when his spouse had no company, he whiled away the hours swimming and skipping stones across the front lawn. She was usually too busy chasing water moccasins out of the cellar to have much fun herself. Of course she never let him forget his poor judgment in purchasing the riverside lot unseen. And he certainly regretted it himself one night, as she rolled him out of bed and over the waterfall.

Story #38

The Frankenstein's monster looked realistic. Great care had been taken in construction of the body. Clothed in inconspicuous garments it certainly didn't look frightening. And although there had been some trouble in getting the physical coordination to work, that too was at least acceptable. It wasn't afraid of fire and people did not run screaming from it. In fact, it was quite easy to live with except for its one minor quirk. It liked to walk around nights telling fish stories.

Story #37

It had proven impossible to develop a totally effective anti-acne cream, so they gave up and tried something new. Why all the paranoia because of a simple pimple, anyway? Who said that had to be ugly? Why not make it fashionable to break out? So that's what they did. The millions of dollars slated to be lost on the elusive acne cure were redirected to the brilliant ad campaign to make it every girl's and boy's dream to have a face riddled from top to bottom with the misunderstood beauty marks. Ad jingles like "Don't Pop the Pimple Crop" and "The Zit's a Hit" turned into instant hummable earworms. And what if you didn't have acne? Or not enough? Now they sold cosmetics claiming to cause the blemishes instead of cure them. You simply dabbed the cream over your face wherever you wanted the little points to appear, took a nap, and in 24 hours you'd be the most popular boy or girl in high school.

Story #36

The echo of the ancient flute toned through time, causing slight ripples in the blood of the two women whose line of descendancy wove back to a dynasty even before the Sphinx. Their two distant ancestors had been lulled into senselessness by that very flute as the priests presided over the transmutation into stone sculptures to slumber hundreds of generations until reawakening at the proper time. Now a life essence stirred again in the stone, slowly drifting like wisps of incense into the bodies of the two receptacles. It had long been predestined. They would revitalize the modern blood with the ancient ideas, spawn a race of the old age. The realization of their destiny sparked an unquenchable lust in their eyes. But first things first. The Egyptian Exhibit was on its tour stop in Manhattan. The two souls, reawakened after untold millennia, must first go shopping.

Story #35

Lisa was quite popular with the boys. Everywhere she went they would fall all over her. They gave her roses, they invited her to sodas, some of the braver souls even ventured a proposal of marriage. A month ago these boys wouldn't have been seen dead with a girl. But then, Lisa was no ordinary girl. She wasn't one to ever collect pictures of horses, or toy with Barbie dolls. Lisa was a girl whose father had traveled to Japan on business, and returned with a suitcase filled with Yu-Gi-Oh cards. Now she had the most powerful deck in the entire school, and a great future ahead of her. Lisa knew how to win friends and influence boys.

Story #34

She lived in a cream colored world. The walls were cream. The blankets she lay on were cream. Her clothes were cream. Her hair was cream. She went for walks on cream colored paths under a creamy sky filled with light the color of cream. Her diet was creamed cheese and ice cream, with cream soda washing it down. If she smiled at you it was a smile of pearly cream. But she had a secret she shared with no one, though you could almost guess, if you looked at her long enough. Her favorite color was red.

Story #33

The other night I was home alone reading Socrates in the original Greek when the doorbell rang. I opened the door and found before me three persons dressed in the attire of that antique era when Socrates had lived. The two men spoke, the lovely Grecian woman smiling and eyeing me in a nice way. Through some forgotten magic they had journeyed to modern times in search of an edition of Socratic philosophy which they required for their studies. The books in those times were very expensive and inaccessible to students. It was so important to them they had brought along an Athenian beauty to exchange for the volume. I agreed to the trade. After all, I could always order a replacement copy in case I got bored with the lady. I took a picture of the three of them, then escorted the two men to the door. When I turned to begin a conversation with my new companion I perceived that she had turned to stone. But still, the statue was lovely workmanship and a marvel to behold. It was remarkably similar to the Greek statues I had seen in museums. I placed it in the foyer for all to envy. The next day I ordered a new edition of Socrates.

Story #32

Anna had always had trouble expressing herself. She sometimes even stuttered, a rare phenomenon as most women can't stutter. Boyfriends were constantly leaving her because she would never talk to them. It was a dire situation. Psychoanalysts didn't know what to do with her because she couldn't tell them her dreams. The speech therapy that had her repeating Dr. Seuss verses at breakneck speed made her good at quoting Dr. Seuss, but did absolutely nothing at all to improve her conversation. Not even the brain surgery had helped. By this time the strain on her family's finances was intolerable. One day while eating at a pizzeria, the cheapest restaurant she could find, she observed two of the Italian waiters in a passionate dispute over a tip. "Eureka!" she shouted, which was a shame, since it wasn't a Greek restaurant. She ran out and immediately enrolled in body language classes. Here she is telling her new former boyfriend, "I never want to see you again."

Story #31

Look, I want you to stop treating me like a baby! I may look like a baby. I may act like a baby. I may even cry like a baby. But what I am doing now is art! I don't expect you to understand that, Mommy and Daddy, of course not. You're so - how shall I put it - conventional. See, you can't even follow what I'm saying now. You think it's baby talk. Use some imagination when listening to me! Last night for instance, just for fun, to see if you'd notice, I related to you my entire theory of aesthetics, quite revolutionary actually, kind of what Picasso was getting at in his work, although he didn't go far enough. And all you could say was, "Oh, isn't he cuuute?" and "It actually sounds like he's saaying something." Well, if you can't comprehend, I'll just have to show you. Tonight when you two are asleep, I'm going to redecorate the entire living room in this style. I'm going to teach you in spite of yourselves. You have to live art to understand it!

Story #30